


Reading Kindness in the Tides

by nyagosstar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull Holiday Exchange, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyagosstar/pseuds/nyagosstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull’s been visiting Krem in the hospital every day, honestly looking forward to the time when he’s released. Only now, Krem’s got a new roommate, a quiet man who never has any visitors and doesn’t have anywhere to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reading Kindness in the Tides

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shae-C-Art](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Shae-C-Art).



> For Shae-C-Art, who requested sick/injured with caretaking, plus no explicit sex. It was a delight and pleasure to write.

The scent of industrial cleaner over sickness and people trying too hard to live hits Bull hard as the automatic doors whoosh open. Maybe for most people, the smell wouldn’t be so bad until they were farther into the hospital, but he’s got a good nose, or maybe a bad one, considering all of the gross things he gets to smell. Either way, there’s no mistaking the scent. The Qun and he parted ways a while ago, but there are things he still misses. The way they treated the sick and failing, keeping them comfortable and calm instead of in a too-cold box-like prison. 

He shakes off the thoughts and heads for Krem’s room on the third floor. He’s been visiting every day for a week, so some of the staff recognize him, don’t ask him where he’s going or if he needs help, the way they do when they’re not sure if he’s going to cause trouble. 

Krem’s awake, propped up a little in bed and watching the television on the far wall. He smiles. “Hey, Chief.”

Bull drops a stack of magazines on the bedside table and sinks into the chair at his side. He looks good, today. Less pale, cheerful smile. Wouldn’t believe looking at him that just five days ago no one knew if he was going to make it another day. That’s the kind of thing that happens when someone ignores abdominal pain until an appendix bursts in the middle of the night. He’d give Krem more shit about it, but honestly, it’s the most scared he’s ever been, hearing Krem’s slurred, panicked voice in the middle of the night, calling him instead of an emergency number. “What’s on the schedule today?”

Krem points with the remote. “Judge shows.”

He kicks his feet up on the end of the bed and leans back. “Good choice.” Across the room, closest to the window, there’s someone new in the room, hidden behind a curtain. He nudges Krem’s foot, gentle, and asks, “Who’s the new guy?”

“Some fucking Altus,” Krem grimaces as he stops a shrug. “Where they even found one around here is a mystery. I guess they thought we’d get on because we’re from the same place. Hasn’t said much other than order me to turn down the television.” Krem, very deliberately, raises the volume.

They sit in silence for a while, watching a severe Elven judge met out punishment to people foolish enough to stand before her. A nurse comes in to check on Krem, then moves to the other side of the room. Bull can hear the soft, warm tones of Krem’s roommate over the television as he keeps to short, one word answers to the nurse’s questions. She leaves and Krem gets sleepy and drops off about an hour into his visit.

Bull stands and pokes his head around the curtain. “Hey there. I’m going to take off and Krem’s asleep. You want the TV off?”

The guy turns his head revealing one eye swollen shut, dark and purpled with bruising, stitches at his temple and jaw and his arm and leg in thick white casts. He starts a little at Bull’s appearance and then turns his face back toward the window. “Please.”

“You need anything?” There’s a pitcher of water on the side of the bed with his bad arm, and a book there, too. 

He jerks again, this time in surprise, but shakes his head. “No.”

Bull lets the curtain drop back in place and leaves, not thinking too much about it. At least, not until the same routine sets in for the next four days. No one ever comes to visit. There are no cards, no flowers, nothing to show that anyone even knows he’s in the hospital.

Krem notices his contemplative look one morning and shakes his head. “Don’t start.”

“What?” Though he knows exactly what. They both know where this is going, but sometimes it’s nice to tread through the well-worn arguments.

“It’s not your job to fix everyone.”

Bull shrugs. “Can’t hurt.” And if it helps distract him, thinking about other people and what they want so he doesn’t have to think about what he wants, well, that’s just a bonus.

Krem is released the next day and Bull takes the day to get him settled, fussing over him, getting him drinks and food until Krem loses it and shoves him out the door. “Go find someone else to bother. I’m _fine_.” He closes the door in Bull’s face, though Bull waits until he picks up the sound of Krem settling back into his couch before he steps away from Krem’s apartment door.

He expected to spend most of the day with Krem and is at a loss for what to do now that he’s free. So, he gets in his truck and heads back to the hospital. It’s been a couple hours, but no one has taken Krem’s space yet, so it’s just the sad Tevinter by the window, who looks about as surprised as Bull feels when he takes a seat next to his bed.

“Your friend left this morning.” It’s the longest thing he’s ever said to Bull. He thinks it’s the longest thing he’s said since they put him in the room.

“I know.” Bull settles into the chair. “Nice view.” It’s not. It’s of the parking garage, square industrial, automatic parking meters, so there’s not even a person to watch. What’s the point of a window if that’s the only view? 

“What are you doing here?”

He picks up the book from the table. Thermodynamics. He puts it back on the table. “Thought you could use the company.”

“I don’t need your pity.” There’s a hard edge to his words that might be more convincing if he wasn’t covered in bruises and lying in a hospital bed, and if he met Bull’s gaze instead of staring out the window.

“So, let me ask you this,” he pauses and the guy goes tense like he’s going to be hit, stares more intently out the window. Whole load of things he doesn’t want to talk about, Bull figures. “What’s your name?”

He gives Bull a slow blink, like he’s trying to figure if he heard right. “Dorian Pavus.”

Heh, even his name sounds rich. “I’m The Iron Bull. You like caramels?” 

“I,” he turns from his inspection of the window. “What?”

Bull digs the candy bag from his pocket and offers it across the bed toward Dorian’s good hand. “Caramels. You want one?”

“I’m almost certain there’s a child’s cautionary tale about taking candy from strangers.” Still, he takes one of the candies, unwraps it with as much precision as his cast allows, and pops it in his mouth. Bull could stand to see some other things his mouth can do. “Thank you.”

“Mr. Bull!” Krem’s nurse comes in and smiles in greeting. “Are you here to spring another one of our patients? You’re a very busy man.”

“Oh, hey, you get to go home today?”

Dorian turns his face away, uncomfortable again. “Not exactly. Apparently, I’m not well enough to be released into my own care. So I’ll be here for a while longer.”

“But you could get out of here, if someone helped you?”

“Yes, but there is no one to help,” he hisses. “So it’s a moot point.”

Bull speaks before he can stop himself. “Well, then, problem solved. You can come home with me. I’m great at taking care of people.”

Dorian turns from the window and eyes him up and down. “Thank you, but I’ve just avoided being murdered, I think it’s probably best if I don’t put myself in the same situation again quite so soon.” He says it like it’s a joke, but the way the nurse freezes, the way his shoulders are just a little too tight, gives him away.

“Lucky for you I’m kind of the opposite of a murderer.” These days, anyway. He digs out his wallet and hands Dorian his business card.

Watching his eyes widen in disbelief is as satisfying as it always is when he can surprise someone. “You’re a physical therapist?” He coughs. “And your website is called Magic Fingers? You can’t be serious.”

Bull wiggles his fingers at him. “I’m a professional.”

Dorian continues to stare.

“And the ground level of my house is a certified rehab facility. I could probably push through the paperwork to get you transferred there. It wouldn’t be home, but it would be nicer than this,” he looks to the nurse. “No offense.”

“None taken. It might be better for Mr. Pavus to be in a less formal facility. He hasn’t been sleeping well here.”

“Only because you insist on coming into the room in the middle of the night to prod at me. It’s a kind offer, but no thank you.”

It takes three more days for Dorian to change his mind. Bull doesn’t ask again, though he can kind of tell that’s what Dorian wants. He just keeps visiting, sitting with him for an hour or two and then promising to return the next day. Finally, finally, when Bull goes to leave on the third day, Dorian clears his throat.

“I suppose, since I see you every day anyway, it might not be terrible to be transferred to your facility.”

Bull holds back his grin. “I’ll let the nurses know and get started on the paperwork. We should have you settled this evening.” 

He lets his people handle the transfer and works on setting up the guest room at the house. Though it’s certified for a live-in patient, Bull hardly every uses it for that purpose. He likes his work better when he can send his clients away at the end of their sessions, when he can see their progress in the space between, rather than the gradual recovery right in front of him. 

But, he’s a sucker and Dorian looks like he could use the help. He’s got the sheets changed, the mini fridge stocked with fruits and water, checked the equipment for wear and pulled out some stuff for dinner options when Stitches delivers Dorian to his door.

His eyes are squinted in pain and his face is a lighter shade of brown. He’s also snapping at Stitches, which is why Stitches is their driver and not Skinner. Stitches lets it roll of his shoulders. Skinner leaves people by the side of the road.

He lets Stitches get him settled and takes the paperwork and Dorian’s chart, which he’s kept his hands off because even though he’s been curious, he’s also really good at boundaries. Now that he’s allowed to read it, well. It’s not great. Dorian wasn’t joking when he said someone tried to kill him. Almost succeeded. He spent some time in intensive care, then on another floor of the hospital, before making it to Krem’s room. 

There’s a note from one of Dorian’s doctors that an attempt to reach out to family about medical decisions was unsuccessful. An additional, unofficial note from one of his nurses said that he’d had no visitors and hadn’t asked to call anyone. Bull’s been there, he’s been in a place at a time when there wasn’t anyone he knew, no one to rely on. He stopped feeling sorry for himself and started building his new life so that wouldn’t happen again, and wouldn’t happen to others on the edge.

He can’t save everyone, but he can damn well try.

After Dorian is settled, he pokes his head in the room. “I’m going to start dinner. I didn’t see any food allergies, there anything you don’t like or that you’re craving. Hospital food is about as depressing as it gets.”

Dorian’s resting on the bed. It’s still hospital grade, but at least it doesn’t have the scent of the hospital. And the blankets are warm, soft, and plentiful. He’s looking a little overwhelmed. “As long as it’s not mashed potatoes, I’ve had my fill for the rest of my life, I think.” He affects a shudder. “Why would you do that to a potato?”

“No mashed potatoes, got it.” He actually likes them. Likes a lot of southern food, but then he’s never been very picky. The Qun doesn’t exactly prize the idea of favorites, so it’s been a bit of a learning curve. “You need anything?”

He shakes his head, though he’s hesitant about it.

“You can ask.”

Dorian clears his throat and looks away. “Do you have any books?”

He doesn’t mean it as an insult, Bull figures he’d ask the same of anyone, not just a Qunari, so he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. “You want fiction, nonfiction, technical manuals?”

A faint smile catches his lips. “Surprise me.”

He could stand to see that smile more, so he comes back with a small stack: gardening, the new thriller by Tethras, and a history of crystal grace trade. “I’ll come get you when food’s ready.”

They fall into an easy pattern over the next week. Dorian is quiet to the point of silence, racing through every book Bull hands him and ignoring most everything else. There’s a television in the room, but he never turns it on, never asks for current news or a tablet for internet access. Bull leaves one at his bedside anyway, but it’s always fully charged each morning.

He eats whatever Bull puts in front of him, answers whatever questions Bull poses—as long as they’re related to his health—and is otherwise the best behaved patient Bull’s ever had. It’s unsettling and Bull spends a lot of time complaining to Krem about it. It helps that Krem is still kind of a captive audience, since it’s hard for him to move around too much.

“Probably thinks he’s too good for your help,” Krem says one afternoon as they take a slow walk through the park near Krem’s apartment. 

“You think?” It’s not the feeling he gets, but Krem knows Tevinter better than anyone.

Krem sighs. “No, I’m just being shitty. He’s an Altus for sure, his accent gives him away. But to be so far from home, and not have anyone come take him away from all of this low class southern medicine the second he got a paper cut on his well mannered finger? Nah, he’s running from something. 

“Yeah.” He sighs. “His casts come off next week and then there really isn’t any reason for him to stay. Only,” he rubs a hand over his face and considers patient confidentiality. Krem does work for him, but he’s on leave until he heals. Bull’s pretty sure that still counts. “He’s got an address listed on his paperwork, but it’s not a real address. I may have swung by yesterday on my way home to make sure it was a suitable environment.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” Bull stops to sit on a bench under a broad maple to give Krem the chance to catch his breath and get ready for the walk back.

“You know Josephine’s looking for an assistant, right? Altus education’s usually pretty fancy. He’d probably be a good fit.”

It’s a good thought, if he can get Dorian to accept the idea. He isn’t very keen on the idea of people giving him things. He keeps talking about paying Bull back for his help, like he’s putting Bull out for doing his job.

The night that Bull first broaches the topic, Dorian seems mildly interested. And then, wakes Bull up on the second floor with his screaming nightmare. He rushes downstairs, worried there might be an intruder or that Dorian hurt himself to find him in the throes of a dream, shouting in Tevene. He’s already thrown everything he can get his hands on at the imaginary foe and backed himself to the farthest corner of the room. 

Bull brings up the lights, nice and slow, and starts calling Dorian’s name. It’s a waking dream, Dorian’s caught facing his attacker, but he can also hear Bull’s voice. There’s a wave of confusion that passes over his face and Bull keeps talking, keeps reassuring, soft and calm until there’s a long blink and Dorian is aware.

“Bull,” he gasps and collapses back into the corner, the fight and strength gone out of him.

“Hey there, big guy. You with me?”

Dorian nods. “Yeah.” His voice is cracked and dry, so Bull pours him some water and goes to sit next to him on the floor. He’s close enough that Dorian can touch him if he wants, but far enough away to not be a threat. “Sorry.”

“Nah. No apologies, all right? One guy was so pissed to be here he threw his shit at me every day for a week. Nightmares aren’t that big a deal in comparison.” The anecdote does its job and gets a half smile out of Dorian. “Come on, let’s get you up off the floor.” He holds out his hands and waits until Dorian is calm enough, sure enough, to take them. Bull does most of the work getting him on his feet, and half carries him back to the bed, but Dorian’s not completely out of it, so Bull takes it as a good sign.

Bull sets Dorian on the edge of the bed and then goes off to collect a damp washcloth from the bathroom so Dorian can wipe the sweat off his face and the back of his neck. He’s looking pretty wiped by the time the minor work is complete, but there’s an edge to his eyes that says he’s not going back to sleep any time soon.

“I’m actually surprised you haven’t had more.”

Dorian nods.

“Most folks with your type of injuries do.”

He nods again.

“What I’m saying is that I’m here to listen if you want to talk.” Maybe Dorian’s the type that needs to hear things straight out. He seems good at picking up subtleties, but it’s been a stressful time.

“Ah.” Quiet understanding. “No, thank you. I prefer not to think much on it, actually.”

Bull takes a seat at the desk and leans back, arms crossed over his chest. “It doesn’t usually work that way. Oh, it might help for a little while, but the deeper you bury your shit, the harder it comes out—usually when you least expect it. You’ve got the time now, to deal with this. Maybe think about it.”

There’s a flash of something that crosses his face, sorrow or guilt, some weakness that isn’t there long enough for Bull to identify. Then Dorian frowns and shuts it all down. “I apologize for waking you. But I believe your role here is to aid my physical recovery. I’ll thank you to keep other comments to yourself.”

“Whatever you need, big guy.” He stands and doesn’t miss Dorian’s flinch, but he doesn’t comment on it, either. “You need anything?”

“No, thank you.”

He leaves him to it, a quiet lonely night because sometimes, what people need most is to be left alone until they realize they don’t have to be.

*

An early snow storm sneaks up on Skyhold. It’s five inches outside already and still falling fast. Bull’s been out twice already, trying to keep ahead of the pile up, but it looks like it’s going to be a losing battle. He’ll just end up tiring himself out before he needs to dig out in the morning. Krem tried to tell him to invest in a snow blower, but it seemed too early in the season. Krem is always right and Bull should spend more time listening to him. 

He comes in the back door to the kitchen and finds a steaming mug of cocoa waiting for him and Dorian at his kitchen table, nursing his own. It’s the first time he’s been out of the rehab suite since he arrived. Bull can’t lie. It’s a good look on him, tucked up against the broad wood of the table. He could stand to see Dorian there every morning.

“I’ve never seen snow like this.” Dorian nods to the window. He’s in three layers and a scarf—half of them borrowed from Bull—even though the heat’s on and Bull has a fire going.

Bull pulls off his snow covered gear to hang by the door and takes the mug. “We had a storm about this bad, a year, two years ago? Shut down the whole city for three days while we tried to dig our way back out.” He slides a glance at Dorian. “About a dozen people died because they couldn’t find a warm place indoors.”

Instead of answering, Dorian takes a sip of his drink.

Best not to push. “You like movies?”

Dorian doesn’t ask what kind, only gives a little shrug. “I haven’t had much of a chance to watch any. Modern entertainment wasn’t approved of, when I was young and I never saw much of a point once I was on my own.” 

“Well, there’s nothing else to do, and it’ll be warmer in the living room. Come on. Bring your drink and I’ll introduce you to the time honored tradition of weathering a snow storm.”

Dorian’s getting around pretty well now. The casts will be off soon and most of the damage to the rest of him has healed. He’s a few steps behind Bull, but setting up for a movie day isn’t hard. Bull pulls over the ottoman so Dorian can prop up his feet, tucks a couple blankets onto the couch and pulls back the curtains so they can watch the snowfall behind the TV.

He picks the first movie, something funny and short and watches Dorian watch the screen. Even though they’ve been living in the same space for a couple weeks, outside of meals and therapy sessions, Bull hasn’t really spent a lot of time with Dorian. He still has other clients to see. Most of the first week, Dorian spent most of his time sleeping as his body worked to repair the damage done to it.

More than just a pretty face, Bull enjoys his time with Dorian. He’s funny and wry and a little shitty and underneath all of that, there’s a spark of wonder and sweetness that he just can’t hide. It makes Bull want to wrap him in blankets and keep him close. Only that’s not the kind of thing that’s really acceptable, so he settles for tucking the corner of a blanket under Dorian’s shoulder when it slips and enjoying him enjoying the movie.

He lets Dorian pick the second and then the third. They take a short break to walk around and get snack. The snow is still falling. Dorian stands at the window, his breath fogging up the glass as he stares at the accumulating snow. He shivers, but Bull doesn’t think it’s entirely from the cold.

“I think I might need some help,” his voice his hardly more than a whisper and he doesn’t turn from the window, shoulders tense and raised, waiting for rejection.

But Bull’s been waiting for this. “Yeah. I know. But it’s nothing we going to be able to fix today, so come back and watch another movie with me.” He settles on the couch and lifts the blanket, still warm from their shared body heat and holds his breath.

There’s the barest hesitation, and then Dorian returns to the couch. He sits right next to Bull, their sides and legs pressed together, Dorian’s head leaning almost on his shoulder. Bull picks something quiet and when Dorian relaxes, Bull shifts and drapes an arm over his shoulders. 

When Dorian leans into him, it feels like a victory.


End file.
